


Faintly of Strawberries

by pretty_and_sick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Parseltongue, Parseltongue Kink, Plot, some violence, what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretty_and_sick/pseuds/pretty_and_sick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fight progresses to something a bit unexpected and a lot more.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Draco can’t handle it; he’s yelling out in indignation “No, stop! Stop now, you randy wanker! Get the hell off of me!” but some unknown enemy must have jinxed him because for some inexplicable reason those words sound more like “Please, more, please dear god, ohhh!”…and for that matter, it hardly sounds like a furious, incensed yell. In fact, it sounds more like a breathy, needy moan – a sound which Malfoys do NOT, under any circumstances, emit; especially under the forceful touch of Harry Bloody Potter.<i></i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Faintly of Strawberries

Draco’s head cracked against the wall. Moments later, rough, calloused hands grabbed his lapels and dragged him forward slightly, only to slam him back. In a daze, Draco looked up and saw brutal anger distorting Potter’s features. A fierce snarl was etched into his mouth and fury glinted like sparking flint from burnished eyes greener than emerald.

Stray thoughts filtered into Draco’s concussed mind. Odd smidgens of ideas with absolutely no connection to each other. His potions essay. The stone jabbing into his shoulder blade at the moment. How he had always been infuriatingly jealous of Potter’s eyes. And how absurdly turned on he was getting from his current positioning.

He couldn’t remember what he had done to anger the stupid, dimwitted Gryffindor. It didn’t really matter anymore. What mattered most was where he was now, and that was shoved up against the wall in a highly sexual and rather compromising manner. He was being held up almost exclusively by Potter, his legs spread wide in a fashion that would have been wanton, were he on a bed. Potter was braced against him, pressing against Draco’s hips for leverage to hold him up. His hands were still fisted in his shirt and his livid face was electrifyingly close. His lips were red and looked soft…they were parted, and Draco glimpsed even white teeth and a tantalizingly pink tongue.

Potter arched his head up and let out a deep, indecipherable yell of irritation. Draco’s eyes were drawn involuntarily to the rippling strength of the wizard’s throat column.

Whatever Draco had done to infuriate Potter so, he had obviously hit a rather large nerve. His bluntly focused rage leaked out, expending itself in manifestations of Potter’s magic. For the first time, Draco fully realized why people always prattled on about how powerful Potter was. Sure, the frustrating boy could produce a fully corporeal Patronus – a highly advanced charm – and Draco still couldn’t…but the young Malfoy had assured himself that it was simply because he didn’t have the time to indulge in the joy necessary to form one.

This was different. There was no denying it: Harry Potter was a veritable powerhouse of incredibly potent magical capabilities. It looked like he didn’t even know what he was doing, but he managed to frighten Draco – not an incredibly easy feat.

Potter was quickly draining the empty corridor of all light. Draco’s breath hitched in the dark, and he found he was now hyper-aware of everywhere Potter was touching him.

He found himself getting very hard.

Without really meaning to, he accidentally ended up bucking against Potter slightly, an unconscious attempt to relieve the stress on his lower regions. The action did not thing of the sort and in fact it rather ended up making things worse – not to mention, he would have to be a complete moron to imagine that Potter hadn’t felt his arousal. He froze in the fear of being caught with something so embarrassing, and realized that Potter had stopped breathing as well.

Tentatively, he did it again. Draco had apparently thrown all caution to the wind. But there wasn’t much to risk in the ways of rejection, and when their bodies touched it was as if he had sent a small charge through the dark haired boy’s system. Air whooshed out of his lungs and he gripped Draco’s shirt tighter. His eyes were wide.

Was it wishful thinking, or was Potter acquiring a little problem, too?

Draco was simply too curious. He arched up towards Potter’s hips once again and this time there was really no denying the taut bulge in his pants. The Gryffindor hissed quietly on contact, and Draco felt odd tinglings in his groin. His head pounded and he realized he could have something that he wanted very badly if he played his corners and presented the situation in the right fashion. He knew exactly where to begin.

He confidently wound his arms around the slimmer boy’s torso, skipping professionally trimmed fingernails down Potter’s back and suddenly grasping the other boy’s arse in his hands. Potter jumped away from his groping hands and into his crotch-area, and from the deep red stain flooding his features he knew that Potter had felt Draco’s own arousal pressing hotly against his stomach. He carefully began to undo the button and zipper encasing the Gryffindor’s dick. Goosebumps rippled down Potter’s arms, exciting Draco, and he tugged Potter’s pants down, leaving him in nothing but a thin T-shirt and tented boxers.

He eagerly shoved a hand down Potter’s trunks and was extremely satisfied by the volume of the resounding moan that followed. The noise echoed straight down into his dick, and it pulsed faster as his heart rate increased. Potter pressed into him, but Draco drew his hand away.

Potter whimpered softly at the loss of contact, blindly searching for it again. Draco withheld.

“Please,” Potter whispered.

“Talk to me,” Draco demanded, sliding taunting fingers across Potter’s straining erection.

“Malfoy!” Potter cried. “Please!”

 “No!” exclaimed Draco. Potter groaned. “Not in English! Talk to me in Parsletongue!”

The Gryffindor’s eyes opened wide, revealing dilated pupils. His lips parted, his tongue rasping along his teeth, creating a cacophony of hissing sounds, each distinct and repeating. Draco almost came then and there. But instead he grabbed Potter’s dick in his fist, smoothing his hand slowly down the shaft, then jerking it upwards again quickly. Potter thrust himself into Draco’s grasp, moaning, and then pressed his lips to Draco’s for the first time. Draco had been right: Potter’s lips were soft. He tasted faintly of strawberries…

A hand teased at the crotch of his pants, and Draco gasped. A tongue slid into the Slytherin’s mouth and Draco bucked his hips. Potter’s tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth and Draco found himself doubting that the Golden Boy was as innocent as the paper’s claimed. Through the haze of lust, Draco heard a zipper being undone and in the next second Potter’s fingers trailed over his cock before retreating to Draco’s navel.

“Tease!” he gasped, and just like that Potter had the upper hand again. He was still muttering in Parsletongue though – obviously aware of what it did to him. Potter’s lips trailed up his jaw, sending jolts that raced right down to his pulsing groin. He finished just under Draco’s earlobe, and there he nipped the sensitive skin unexpectedly, leaving a mark and causing Draco’s eyes to roll back into his head. Potter whispered something in the snake language into his ear, his tongue barely touching the inner shell. Draco cried out and the other boy yanked him close. Their exposed erections brushed against each other and Potter moaned deep in his throat.

“Bugger me,” Potter commanded, no longer speaking Parsletongue. But Draco didn’t care anymore. He just needed to come! All the foreplay was great and whatnot but enough was enough and they both needed release.

“Gladly!” Draco agreed, tearing open the other boy’s shirt and raking his teeth down the tanned and toned flesh of the Boy Who Lived whilst carding his fingers through pitch black hair that lay in devilish disarray. Potter arched under his ministrations, rotating his body to better suit the blond boy. Draco reached the head of the throbbing dick and experienced some hesitation. Nervously, he edged soft fingers to lightly caress it. Emboldened by the responding lusty groan, Draco abandoned all self-doubt and took Harry Potter in his mouth.

Immediately the Gryffindor fisted his hands in Draco’s hair, pulling it. He loosed a wordless yell of ecstasy and Draco felt a responding jump in his own attraction.

Suddenly, rational thought ceases and Draco can’t really remember why the back of his head aches, but he can remember how it felt to hear Potter moan, and he knows that he _has_ to make him make that sound again. Desperately, he does everything he can to pleasure the cock in his mouth, twirling his tongue and worshipping it with such fervor that the dark haired boy’s knees buckle slightly under the stress of such delight. The hands in his hair grip and tangle and muss and card themselves through the soft blond locks, until finally they tug upwards, an obvious invitation to rise and meet whatever doom Potter is giving.

It turns out that doom equals scorching hot kisses in Potter’s book. A nimble tongue delves intrusively into his mouth before changing tactics and molesting his aching nipples. Draco gasps and arches his back, forcing the searing mouth to close over this nub of such intense feeling, and the taste of strawberries permeates his very being. And suddenly Draco realizes that this _is_ Potter, and he detests Potter with every fiber of his being, and Potter has just recently accosted him quite violently and Draco has just _sucked Potter off_.

Draco can’t handle it; he’s yelling out in indignation “No, stop! Stop now, you randy wanker! Get the hell off of me!” but some unknown enemy _must_ have jinxed him because for some inexplicable reason those words sound more like “Please, more, please dear god, ohhh!”…and for that matter, it hardly sounds like a furious, incensed yell. In fact, it sounds more like a breathy, needy moan – a sound which Malfoys do NOT, under any circumstances, emit; _especially_ under the forceful touch of Harry Bloody Potter.

Draco knows his ancestors are rolling in their graves, and he wonders briefly what his father will say.

And then Potter’s mouth reaches his navel, a warm, wet tongue dipping in before trailing down to his – oh god.

Oh.

God.

Draco pinwheels his hands to try and remain steady as pleasure like he has never experienced wracks his entire body. His nerves are tingling, his head is on fire, and he is acutely aware of every. single. place. that Potter is touching him. He whimpers quite suddenly, to his eternal embarrassment, but Potter appears to be too busy blowing him to laugh at him at the moment.

Humiliatingly, he comes rather quickly after Potter goes down on him, though he does thoroughly appreciate the sight of his come splattered across Potter’s lean torso. Draco presses in close from behind and closes his fist over Potter’s erection. He’s not as nervous anymore, but he’s still hardly confident. Potter’s lustful groan reassures him that this, at least, is right, and he proceeds to pump the Gryffindor until he is yelling incoherently again, spurting over his chest and Draco’s hand, and Draco is satisfied and even a little happy.

A quick spell cleans them both off. They dress quickly and look at each other appraisingly. Draco realizes he can never really be as mean to Potter anymore. He likes to think that Potter feels the same way, feels a different side of the Slytherin whose hand he so rashly rejected. They don’t speak, they simply stare, and when it appears Potter has found whatever he was searching for, Draco is at a loss. How do they walk away? Do they shake hands? Draco cringes at the awkward idea. Kiss? No, it’s not like they’re _dating_. 

In the end, they simply nod and walk away. Draco is pleased to note that Potter is blushing slightly, and not so pleased to note that he rather likes the complimenting tone when offset with the shining tan of the boy. But as he lies in his four-poster bed, the dark hangings drawn shut around him and various spells warding him, he can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if this became a regular thing….

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for poorly written porn. Also please accept my apologies since this is relatively unedited and a first attempt at graphic. Any feedback would be just lovely:)


End file.
